Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Manun's Escape
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Eldar blinked.
"I... I've never seen numbers like these before..."
"It's not that extreme."
"But... it's still quite rare, isn't it?"
Seong-un nodded.
While there were differences depending on the race, the character's age, and the civilization stage, at the current phase, Kyle was still in his underdeveloped adolescent period, so even a stat of 15 would be considered solidly average.
Thus, a Strength of 14 meant perfectly ordinary capabilities, not deviating much from the norm. But a Society of 32? In ancient civilizations, that would mark someone as king material; in modern ones, more than enough for a politician or celebrity.
Eldar spoke up.
"Even an Intellect around 60 would make someone a standout genius of the era, but over 80—crossing into 100? Unheard of."
"Probably won't see anyone like that across the entire continent for the next few decades."
In truth, the world's stagnation over the past century wasn't solely due to internal issues in each nation.
To advance civilization, matching technologies and inventions must emerge. Gods can't just hand them down directly—that would massively violate causality.
There were other problems too.
Even with tech and inventions, they can't be one-off events. They need to spread to others, linking to further innovations.
But the last century had seen almost none of that.
Existing tech had spread and been optimized to each nation's environment, but nothing truly groundbreaking.
This was beyond even Seong-un's control.
New things—tech, inventions—didn't come easily.
And even when they did, they tended to fizzle out in isolated uses.
Without advancing to modern civilization and achieving so-called 'globalization,' much of it boiled down to luck.
In Lost World, these stagnation periods pass in minutes—shortest a few, longest a dozen or so.
That was why Kyle's existence struck Seong-un as a sign of impending change.
"With that Intellect, he's primed to uncover new things. Plus, he has the influence to spread those techs and inventions across Heukrin's territories."
In Seong-un's view, Heukrin had plenty of room to advance to the next stage.
Resources were stockpiled, merchants traversed the continent, and scholars versed in basic math and science dotted the land.
Eldar hesitated.
"But..."
"What?"
"There's a major issue at play..."
Seong-un knew exactly what Eldar meant.
"Not the first problem, but the third one."
"Yes. The current crown prince, Basen, loves his pleasures, but that doesn't seem like a fatal flaw. And since he's already secured the crown prince position, unless something changes, Kyle won't have an easy path to the throne."
Seong-un pondered briefly.
Intervening directly was simple for him.
A targeted omen at the royal council would send the ministers into a frenzy, insisting the Night Heaven had chosen Kyle for the throne.
But... settling it that neatly isn't ideal.
The result was the current state of Oran.
The Left Secretariat—akin to earthly eunuchs or personal secretaries—was filled with various races. But the Right Secretariat, the real administrative powerhouse wielding influence over Heukrin, was dominated by Lizardmen.
They naturally backed the throne, making rebellion in Heukrin a non-starter these days.
After all, the heads of every administrative branch were Lizardmen.
Stagnant water breeds rot.
They weren't rotten to that degree yet, and while Heukrin's royal line had its share of dim kings, none were tyrants.
Still, Lizardmen were a minority in Heukrin's racial makeup, yet they overwhelmingly dominated the bureaucracy. Seong-un's blessings had boosted their competence, but even accounting for that, the imbalance was glaring.
Surely talented individuals existed among other races too.
Moreover, Seong-un now encompassed not just Humans and Lizardmen, but many more races in his domain. Having aggressively expanded early for efficiency, it was time to prioritize harmony.
Racial conflicts erupting before modernity? That'd be a nightmare.
Until now, he'd intervened directly in Heukrin's politics to fend off external threats and bolster royal authority. But he judged it time to shift to indirect influence.
"That's why I'm trying a different approach this time."
"Like what...?"
Seong-un explained his plan, and Eldar fretted.
"Will that really work out as planned? You're putting a lot of faith in Kyle's Intellect..."
"I think it'll go fine. I've used similar tactics plenty in other games."
"You'll do it anyway, even if I object, right?"
"Yep."
Seong-un added,
"I'm telling you ahead of time so you don't sabotage it out of worry that something's gone wrong."
Eldar let out a soft sigh.
"Understood."
Oran's palace boasted numerous gardens.
They depicted the Lizardmen's vision of the afterlife: ankle-high grasses, a few scattered trees, boulders for lounging—idyllic natural vignettes.
This garden culture had caught on among Heukrin's nobility, who prided themselves on cultivating vast palace grounds as a virtue.
Yet Oran held one feature absent elsewhere.
Newly arrived Left Secretariat Elves perked up their ears, peering over the wooden fence.
"Whoa, that's the legendary..."
"Shh. Keep it down. He'll spot us."
The first Elf clamped his mouth shut and nodded.
"...Anyway, that's Oran's guardian drake, Manun."
Body length: 25 meters. Age: roughly 150. Race: Drake.
Originally raised by Viewe, chieftain of the Blue Skin Lizardmen tribe. Later subjugated by Rakrak and placed beneath his feet—a colossal lizard.
Drakes were said never to die of old age, and indeed Manun still lived.
He resided in a special garden deep within the palace. Records showed the palace had been renovated multiple times just to accommodate his growth spurt decades ago.
In a way, Oran's myriad gardens existed because of Manun.
Now, the palace ministers viewed him as a headache.
Even post-growth, his massive size demanded exorbitant feed, matched only by his prodigious waste.
Costly in coin and labor.
Yet discarding Manun wasn't feasible.
Not just any drake, but the one commanded by the founding ancestor and Thunder Dragon King, Rakrak.
Manun symbolized royal authority itself, forcing the palace to foot the bill regardless.
Over a century, though, some ministers argued for releasing him to remote mountains—or, riskier still, offering him as sacrifice to the Night Heaven.
In short: kill him.
A symbol was just that. With a living king, nothing superseded him.
Their logic wasn't entirely wrong.
Despite human handling, Manun was among the world's most fearsome beasts—a 150-year-old drake.
He could wreck the palace overnight if he chose.
No sense in a royal symbol threatening the king's life.
Be that as it may, Manun contentedly ate, shat, and slept in the spot the Lizardmen provided.
One thing people overlooked about Manun: unlike young growth-stage drakes, mature ones like him developed a rudimentary consciousness.
Naturally, with none living as long, it went unnoticed.
Not enough for speech comprehension or tool use, but Manun distinguished those bringing feed-water buffalo, cleaning his waste, or scaling him to polish scales from mere prey.
He vaguely sensed emotions welling within.
Lately, one dominated: a stifling, restrictive unease. How to alleviate it eluded him.
Unable to resolve it, Manun ate what was given, shat as needed, and slept away the rest.
Every need met by idling—nothing lacking. Pondering emotions was just alien discomfort.
One night, a flickering blue light roused him.
A blue butterfly.
Manun swatted with a forepaw to resume sleep, indifferent to lights. Instead, they doubled.
Knowing his swats pulverized most things, curiosity piqued. He opened his eyes.
Another swat doubled them again; a third blanketed his body.
The swarm enveloped then swirled above his garden.
Manun lumbered after, breaking into a stride as they accelerated.
Lapping the garden, they passed unhindered through the ten-meter wooden bars.
Manun mustn't cross.
He raised a paw, flexing claws, hesitating.
Smashing bars? Trivial.
But last escape drew crowds, noise, prodding spears—annoying.
He could flatten them, but no desire.
They resembled people he liked.
Manun remembered his early masters.
First: unpleasant. Too many orders.
Second: good.
Though flung by the snout on meeting, drake hierarchy via strength etched him as leader to follow.
No commands, just prompt feedings—pleasant.
Vanished eventually, a vague regret, but daily meals dulled it; life went on.
'...!'
Suddenly, Manun grasped the knot in his heart.
Chasing butterflies purged it, evoking how the second Lizardman not only fed but played like these lights.
The stifling emotion? Boredom.
"Come here, Manun."
A familiar voice called.
Manun squinted beyond the bars.
His second master beckoned.
"Thought the gods had another odd task, but this'll be fun after so long."
Manun didn't grasp the words.
But the beckoning signaled grab-play—still remembered.
Shoulders low, haunches high, tail wagging gently.
"Manun, let's see if you've improved."
The 25-meter behemoth launched beyond the bars.
Hunting Minister Deanin received an absurd report from a subordinate upon arriving that morning.
"Heard about the huge explosion at dawn?"
"Nothing major, I heard."
"Well, actually, not quite."
"Then?"
"The Imperial Guard mobilized at dawn to trace it. Turns out—Manun bolted to the western mountains."
"That's a problem."
Guardian drake or royal symbol—Manun was a monster.
No mere beast, so Imperial Guard or army would mobilize. But killing him outright impossible, capturing that bulk alive? A nightmare for whoever was in charge.
Deanin wanted no part.
"Lord Deanin, why answer like it's someone else's mess?"
"Huh?"
"Aren't you the Hunting Minister?"
"...?"
Deanin froze.
The 'Hunting Division' under him handled hunts—nobles' recreation.
Lizardmen excelled at archery, relishing the sport. But no dangerous beasts near the king's palace.
Thus, prey released in mountains only for hunts, managed by the division as dedicated fun squad.
Heavy labor, odd jobs others shunned—politically powerless. Even Right Secretariat affiliates scorned them.
This incident? More of the same.
"Hurry preparations. His Majesty demands a plan to capture Manun before morning council."
Manun-hunt duty dumped on them by rivals.
"What the actual fuck."